Clouds Dripping Lemonade
by Tuppence
Summary: John made a deal with his own personal devil, the YED - his soul for Dean's life. But he should've known never to trust demons... Sometimes, it's impossible to make lemonade or find silver linings to dark clouds. AU


**Disclaimer****:** Supernatural? Not owned by me!

**Author's Note****:** Ok, so I don't know what it is about Supernatural, but the AU stories in this fandom are phenomenal, so I thought I'd try my hand at it. And for all the Dean and Mary fans out there, don't despair. I'm a Dean-girl, so some way or another, there'll be some Dean in the story. _John made a deal with his own personal devil, the YED himself - his soul for Dean's life. But he should've known never to trust demons, they never keep their words!_

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Clouds Dripping Lemonade

It was probably a direct result of how long he had been hunting but John found nothing unusual in waking up in a hospital, in pain of varying levels. In the year he'd spent apart from Dean, he'd also somewhat become accustomed to waking up in stark fear, panic, the kind people only felt for other people, _like Dean_. That's why when he first opened his eyes in the hospital, John didn't panic, though there was an uncommon crushing pressure on his chest and he wasn't sure what happened when or why anymore, with the image of Dean's splashing blood having to be blinked away. If they were in the hospital, it meant that Sammy got them out of there. It also meant that Dean was getting some much needed help to heal those cuts – and there was that blinding nausea and panic that he'd been missing out on as he remembered in horribly explicit detail exactly what _he_ had done to Dean.

A deep breath in and out, to settle that nausea and the images of Dean dying in front of his eyes, _by his hands_, and he was able to think a little coherently again. He needed to find his sons, make sure they were ok with his own eyes and then he'd consider the bastards that did this to them. He was damned if he'd let them endanger his sons any longer.

Minutes later and Sammy strode in and he felt the first wave of high caused by sheer relief that his son was ok. "Sammy..." was all he managed to get out before he was hugged in a rare display of affection from his younger son. Guess it was safe to assume that Sam didn't hate him for the present.

His next words were "How's Dean?" and he had his answer from Sam's face, fury tinged with fear tinged with disbelief. The answer was clearly not good.

"In a coma," came Sam's brusque reply, brushing his hair back with his fingers in a familiar display of nerves. Ok, so it was a hell of a lot worse than not good, John thought, even as he struggled to keep the terror from returning. "They say...he might not wake up." He imagined that Sam was swallowing the same giant lump that was present in his throat. "They said there was huge blood loss, contusions to his liver and kidneys and there's cerebral oedema."

Sam's lips were trembling, so John made sure his weren't before he dared to speak. "You ok?"

"Yeah, yeah I'm fine. Fit to go." The guilt and anger was blatant in Sam's voice but John couldn't fault him. He was feeling pretty much the same right now. "But they want our insurance," he added as an afterthought.

"All right, here. Give them the insurance."

"Elroy McGillicuddy?" He knew that the name would distract Sam. He tried not to think of all the wisecracks Dean would have made. _Dean_...damn it, this wasn't supposed to happen. He'd done everything to try and _prevent_ it from happening.

"And his two loving sons," he replied. "So...what else did the doctor say about Dean?" He had to know just how desperate things were...

"Nothing." The silence confirmed his next steps, even as Sam rushed to comfort him. "Look, if the doctors won't do anything, we'll have to. That's all. I don't know...we'll find some..._hoodoo priest to lay some mojo on him_." It sounded so much like something Dean would say that his heart seemed to thump extra hard and extra painfully but the look on Sam's face... He thought he might be feeling a little light-headed because didn't Sam just look like he _hadn't_ come up with this? Like somehow Dean might have said this to Sam? Like Dean might have been standing right by Sam, like, right now...?

"We'll look for someone," John lied through his teeth, wondering how it had become so easy, or if it was just this time because he knew what he had to do. Maybe it was because technically, he was planning on looking for a certain someone, even if it wasn't the kind of thing Sam was looking for. He had to try and warn him anyway. "But Sam, I don't know if we're going to find anyone." He reckoned he should give some sort of warning, right? That'd be the nicer thing to do, right? But his luck held out as Sam misjudged him, replying with a sharp 'why not'.

It was a quick descent into the usual bickering. And god, despite everything, he wondered at his younger son's naivety that bordered on stupidity. _Why_ was he worried about the Colt? Maybe because it was the only chip they had for bargaining? Maybe because it was their sole protection from this bitch of a demon that seemed hell-bent on destroying his family in every conceivable way? It didn't matter. The usual bickering continued, with Sam storming out, as always.

The second Sam left, he found his way to Dean's room. It was wrong, sinfully wrong, to see the boy so quiet and still, so _dead_. He wouldn't stay that way, he'd make sure of it. And just looking at the boy, his mind was made. He bided his time until Sam came, bringing back the ingredients even as he hurled false accusations and ignored any answers. Waiting until Sam was gone, he left, ready to do what he had to do.

The pattern was drawn, checked and rechecked to make sure it was just right to summon the demon. Everything was in its place and now his lips were uttering the words, without a conscious thought for direction. He didn't dare to think because it would only bring back memories of Dean bleeding, crying, begging for his father to not let the demon kill him. So he allowed his mind to focus on the task at hand, everything in its place, the words falling as easily as if it were a straightforward exorcism.

He lit the matches, marvelling at the steadiness of his hands even as his voice faltered from the pain of standing but painkillers hadn't been an option. He needed to be up to every move to play this right. He had to play this right, for Dean. And then he dropped the match.

"What the hell you doing down here, buddy?" The voice startled him as much as the hand grasping his shoulder, even though he'd expected the arrival.

"I can explain," He replied, unsure of what to say in this new situation, unsure of the best approach.

"Yeah? You're gonna explain to security. Come on, follow me." Came the rejoinder. Demons had always been partial to charades and games and he should've known this bastard would be just as bad as all the others.

He cocked the Colt. "Hey. How stupid do you think I am?" He levelled the gun at the demon, ready to get to business and refusing to continue the charade.

"You really want an honest answer to that?" It was amazing how a demon could alter the face of a human, an ordinary human, to look so...evil. Unfazed, he kept the Colt directed at the demon, even as two more walked past and surrounded him. A futile move on the part of the demons but he didn't care right now. He wanted this over with as soon as possible, so he could go back to his sons, _both_ of them, awake and, in Dean's case, making dry comments. "_You_ conjuring _me_, John. I'm surprised. I took you for a lot of things but suicidally reckless wasn't one of them."

"I can always shoot you." He uttered the threat without heat. Right now, the demon was far more precious alive and doing business than dead.

"You could always miss," retorted the demon, smirking and chuckling in a way that was horribly reminiscent of last night. "And you got only one try, don't ya?" All valid points and all beside the point too. "Did you really think you could trap me?"

"Oh, I don't want to trap you." He uncocked the gun, ready to set the cards on the table. "I want to make a deal." And under other circumstances, he might have been amused at the blatant bemusement on the demon's face.

"It's very unseemly, making deals with devils," the demon finally responded, the surprise wearing off. "How do I know this isn't just another trick?"

It seemed odd for demons to be worried about two-timing humans betraying them...but John guessed that after being hunted for over two decades, it might be understandable for him to be wary. So he assuaged it. "It's no trick. I will give you the Colt and the bullet, but you gotta help Dean. You gotta bring him back."

"Why John, you're a sentimentalist," came the taunt with no power to hurt him. "If only your boys knew how much their daddy loved them." That one stung, as memories of the malicious words spoken the night before came to his mind. Dean wouldn't believe that crap, would he? But he had a feeling this demon had kept a very close watch on his family and would know which buttons to press. He'd have to sort that out later.

"It's a good trade. You care a hell of a lot more about this gun than you do about Dean." Not entirely true but he was counting on Sam's life having outweighed Dean's death thus far.

"Don't be so sure. He killed some people very special to me." The sudden emotional outburst was brought under control. "But still, you're right. He isn't much of a threat. And neither is your other son, of course. You know the truth, right? About Sammy, and the other children?"

He had to be cool, remain collected despite the provocation, despite the thought of Sammy all alone and the centre of some huge demon conspiracy and Dean slipping away... "Yeah, I've known for a while."

"But Sam doesn't, does he? You've been playing dumb."

"Can you bring Dean back? Yes, or no?" Impatience got the better of him, probably because of that niggling feeling that maybe he should be honest with Sam.

"No. But I know someone who can. It's not a problem."

"Good. And before I give you the gun, I'm gonna wanna make sure Dean's ok, with my own eyes."

"Oh John, I'm offended. Don't you trust me?" Came the dry rejoinder, even as whispers of what Dean would have said in response came to his mind. "Fine."

"So we have a deal?"

"No, John, not yet. You still need to sweeten the pot."

He'd always known this was a danger. He'd hoped it wouldn't happen but he'd still expected. "With what?"

"There's something else I want, as much as that gun. Maybe more."

He didn't as much as flinch when they asked him for his soul as well. He didn't consider the option for more than a few seconds before stoically agreeing with them. He didn't need to think about his son, their moments together, how much he loved him – he said yes without a second thought. He'd known this was a possibility, more likely to be demanded than not but he hadn't known he'd care so little for his soul. He'd underestimated how much he loved his son. It didn't matter. He'd damn well make sure he'd do everything right before leaving.

It was a short drive back to the hospital and it took him no time to find himself walking down the corridor towards his son's room, ready to tell Dean just how much he meant to him, how proud he was and how he would never have survived this harsh reality if Dean hadn't been there to be the rock every step of the way.

He entered the room to find frenzied activity, the heart monitor beeping loudly, nurses scrambling around, doctors ordering loudly and Sam shuffled against the door, failing to keep any tears at bay. He stood motionless, waiting for Dean to wake up.

A familiar chuckle behind him and he had the Colt cocked and ready to shoot. He sensed enough through the chaos inside the room to know that Sam had turned around too, no doubt as ready for action as he could be under these circumstances. He didn't know about the deal, didn't know that Dean would be just fine...

If only he didn't have the demon chuckling at him in sick amusement. "Did you get to say your goodbyes to the son? Or did he die thinking you couldn't care less about him?"

He thought he heard a wail of mixed anguish and anger erupting from Sam's lips but he couldn't really hear it over the sound of his thundering heartbeats. "He'd not dead. He won't be dead. We had a deal." He was shocked at how unwavering his voice was.

"Silly, silly John. You really think I'd make a deal like that?"

His finger was itching to pull the trigger but he had to know. There had to be a way to save Dean. "You agreed to bring Dean back." He couldn't breathe, which meant he was dying, which meant that Dean would be ok, _had_ to be ok.

"Don't be stupid John. Eye for an eye and all that. He took my child, I take yours. As simple as that. Don't be _too_ sad though. I was tempted by the deal, _really_ tempted. Just not enough. Kiss Dean goodbye for me, will you? I really got quite attached to the guy."

John didn't hear anything else, Sam's sobs or the chuckling demon, as his own anguish took over.


End file.
